“He’s got a temp of 103 right now and drifts in and out of delirium, Storm.”
Her stomach knotted with anxiety. She tried to relax as Jim received word from the tower to take off. The throbbing engine reverberated throughout the cabin as the aircraft rose into the black sky. As the gear retracted, Storm unsnapped her safety harness.
“Where are you going?” Jim asked.
“To get the IV ready. Or did you do it already?”
Jim smiled tiredly. “No. Thanks.”
“Do you know if the boy is vomiting?”
“Yes. Set up the saline solution. He’s only five, and can lose enough body fluids to become dehydrated and in critical condition in just a matter of a few hours.”
It was almost three-thirty when they landed at the camp. The flash of the aircraft’s front landing light illuminated a small knot of people waiting tensely at the end of the grass strip. Storm glanced at Jim as he shut down the engines and began to unstrap his seat belt.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this one,” she whispered.
“Take it easy,” he murmured. His hand rested briefly on her arm, sending a warming shiver through her as he left the cockpit. “If we stay calm, the parents will, too. It’s probably just another attack of flu.”
Storm followed him wordlessly into the chilly night air. Their breath came in white wisps as they joined the Callings family. Louise’s voice was high-pitched with anxiety. She grabbed Jim’s arm.
“He’s been vomiting for the past three hours!” she cried.
Storm stepped forward and draped her arm around the mother’s drawn shoulders. “It’s all right, Louise,” she reassured her gently, forcing a smile. “Walk with us and describe all the symptoms to Jim. Try not to leave anything out.”
Nervously, Louise rattled out a list, clutching Storm’s waist. Storm deliberately kept her own voice calm, and gradually Louise became more coherent. As they stopped in front of the tent, Storm asked about the vomiting.
Louise dabbed at her tears. “It’s—I think, white…with brown flecks. I think it’s blood, but Frank says no.”
Storm’s eyes widened, and she caught Jim’s intent gaze. “What has he eaten today, Mrs. Callings?” he asked, moving closer to Storm.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. He’s so terribly pale and weak.” Louise looked over at her husband, who wasfollowing in grim silence. “Oh, Frank, I knew weshouldn’t have brought him along so soon after gettingover the flu!”
“It’ll be all right, Louise,” her husband said. “Theboy’s just had a relapse, that’s all. That happens sometimes, doesn’t it, Mr. Talbot?”
Storm noted the anxiety in Mr. Callings’s voice. Gas lanterns flung rings of light around them, driving away the encroaching shadows.
“Relapses are common, Mr. Callings,” Jim agreed. “If you’ll wait outside, we’ll examine your son. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
Jim opened the tent flap, and Storm followed. Her heart began beating faster as she noted Bobby’s wan complexion. “Oh, Jim,” she whispered, getting down on her knees next to the cot where the child was lying. She reached out, feeling Bobby’s arm. “Warm and dry,” she reported.
Silence settled between them as Storm deftly placed the blood-pressure cuff on Bobby’s slender left arm, apprehensively watching the needle slowly descend on the gauge. She held her breath as Jim placed the stethoscope on the boy’s inner elbow.
“Ninety-eight over sixty,” Jim murmured, a frown creasing his forehead. He handed Storm the cuff and stethoscope and began to gently examine the boy’s body. As his fingers probed the torso, Bobby moaned. Jim shook his head. “It can’t be liver enlargement.”
Storm placed a thermometer in the boy’s mouth and held it carefully. “Flu wouldn’t give a pressure reading like that,” she commented apprehensively. She removed the thermometer. “One hundred and four, Jim.”
Jim sat back on his haunches, observing the child; then his slate-gray eyes swung back to Storm. “He’s dehydrated, and we’ll need an IV. I’ll wrap him inblankets. You bring the medical bag along. Tell the parents to come with us. When you get aboard, radio the hospital in Anchorage and tell them we have an emergency. Give them the vital statistics.”
Storm blocked out everything she was feeling and concentrated on doing her job. Bobby’s vital statistics were bad enough, but the anxiety in Jim’s voice drove her close to panic. Jim wasn’t the type to overreact. She touched Bobby’s limp brown hair and pushed several strands off his forehead. “Okay,” she finally murmured, adding, “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“The feeling’s mutual, babe. Come on, we’ve got to hurry.” Jim carefully bundled up the boy and lifted him from the cot.
Minutes later, Storm took the aircraft up, wasting no time in swinging the nose toward Anchorage. She felt lonely in the cockpit by herself, and kept one ear keyed to the conversation drifting in from the back, where Bobby’s parents and Jim tended the boy. Storm had just straightened the plane out for a run at eight thousand feet when the child began to babble and shriek. Louise gave a cry of distress.
Storm unbuckled her seat belt and leaned over to look through the cabin door. Her heart plummeted. Bobby was going into convulsions! Jim grimly restrained the boy. Louise began to cry openly, burying her face in her hands.
In anguish, Storm tore her gaze from the scene. She mentally catalogued the symptoms. What could be wrong with Bobby? It was a strange and baffling case. “Louise!” she called out. “Come here. I need to talk to you.”
Mrs. Callings climbed into the copilot’s seat, holding a handkerchief to her mouth, still sobbing wildly. “Louise, listen to me,” Storm begged. “Has your son been taking any drugs?”
“Just some antibiotics for the flu. Oh, Storm! What’s happening?” she wailed.
“I don’t know…just don’t know.” Storm’s mind raced to provide an answer. “Louise, do you or your husband’s family have a history of epilepsy?”
“No…Do you think—?”
“It’s hard to tell. The fever could be causing the convulsions. Jim’s the very best, Louise. If he needs assistance with Bobby, try to stay calm and help him. Please.”
Moments later, Jim spoke quietly in her ear. “Storm, red-line it.” His voice was absolutely emotionless, and it chilled her.
Her heart pounding, she shoved the throttles to full speed, and the aircraft surged forward. Another fifteen minutes passed and silence descended on the cabin. Storm carefully watched the heat gauges. The plane could only take so much full throttle before the engine would begin to overheat. She gripped the steering yoke, her knuckles whitening. They had to get to Anchorage fast!
Storm was so intent on monitoring the aircraft that she didn’t hear Jim come forward. His hand rested on her shoulder, sending an immediate response through her tense body. He sat on the edge of the copilot’s seat, his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes intent on Bobby.
“I thought it might be a drug overdose,” Storm began lamely.
Jim sighed heavily. “How about meningitis?” He had barely mouthed the word before Storm jerked her head to face him.
“Oh, no.”
“He’s quiet now, but I don’t know for how long.” Jim sounded tired, anxious. “Damn, this one has got me going.”
Without thinking, Storm reached out and touched his arm. The muscles were hard beneath her fingertips. It seemed natural to try to comfort him, and she felt his silent plea for reassurance. “You aren’t expected to make a diagnosis, Jim. Doctors do that, remember?” She offered him a small smile, but he shook his head sadly.
His face softened a bit as he studied her features. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re good medicine?” He got up and slid his hand across her shoulder in a tender gesture. Storm gloried briefly in the shared moment and then turned her attention back to the gauges.
At last the lights of Anchorage appeared on the horizon. Storm bit her lip as she watched the needles on the dials move toward the danger zone.
She tried to shut out the sounds of Bobby’s anguish and Louise’s continued sobbing. Only Jim’s soothing voice gave her solace.
Storm coaxed the plane on. Emergency clearance had already been granted, and she banked the plane with a solid left rudder. Now was not the time for gentle turns or long approaches. Every second was precious to Bobby.
Storm felt the plane strain to resist the pull of gravity. She made the last turn and opted for full power on landing. With full flaps extended, the plane seemedto hover momentarily, and she increased the steep angle of their descent to the runway. The red light of an ambulance flashed on her left as the wheels bit into the concrete surface of the runway.
Storm was utterly exhausted as the stretcher bearing Bobby Callings was wheeled into the back of the ambulance. A cold, steady rain had begun to fall, and she shivered beside the plane as Jim climbed into the ambulance, too, carefully suspending the IV above the unconscious child’s head. He looked back once, and their eyes locked. Storm hugged herself and tried to nod, but that one penetrating gaze left her shaken and on the verge of tears.
Would the boy die despite everything they had done? She turned away, her cheeks wet. Jim mustn’t see her cry. Not now. Not yet. The plaintive wail of sirens filled the air, and Storm climbed back aboard to complete the post-flight check. Later, as she closed the hatch, she gave the plane a well-deserved pat on the fuselage and walked tiredly to her car. Right now, all she wanted was sleep.
Storm groaned and flopped over onto her back as the heavy knocking at her apartment door continued. Groggily, she stumbled out of bed, pulling on a white chenille robe over her apricot gown, not sure what time it was. The room was pitch-black, and she stifled an oath as she bumped her shin against the corner of the couch.
Finally, after turning on a small light in the corner, she unlocked the door and pulled it open.
“Storm?”
She remained motionless, her hair in disarray. Jimstood in the doorway, his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, his shoulders hunched forward, his wet hair plastered against his skull.
A lump formed in Storm’s throat as she stared up into his weary face. “Come in,” she whispered, moving aside.
He gave a shy, almost painful shrug. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here,” he muttered by way of apology.
“It doesn’t matter. Please, come in. Let’s get that coat off you. You’re soaked.”
He shuffled in and stood in the center of the small living room, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Yeah…guess I am pretty wet,” he returned after a moment.
Storm unbuttoned his coat with trembling fingers and pulled it off his broad shoulders. She frowned, noticing that even his light blue shirt was damp. “How long were you walking around outside?” she asked.
“What?”
She led him to the couch, and he sat down.
“How long have you been walking around in that downpour?”
He shrugged again and ran his fingers distractedly through his dark hair. “I lost track of time, to tell you the truth.”
Storm was beginning to panic. What had happened to make him so distressed? Going into the bedroom, she removed the blanket from her bed, then returned to the living room. Worriedly, she assessed Jim. He seemed to be suffering from some kind of shock. She threw the blanket across his shoulders and pulled it tightly around him, then said in a stern voice, “Jim, get out of those clothes. You’re shivering. I’m going to the kitchen to make some coffee to warm you up. Do you hear me?”
Moving stiffly, awkwardly, he began untying his shoes. Storm’s heart swelled with a feeling she had thought long since dead. Jim needed her. And she was responding to that need, that vulnerability, without hesitation. As she made coffee, she felt a thrill of joy. She was still capable of love, capable of giving unselfishly to another person.
But immediately her concern for Jim overrode her joy. Something terrible had happened to him.
Storm returned to the living room with the coffeepot and a mug. “Here,” she coaxed. “Drink this, Jim.” She placed the full mug in his hands.
He stared down at the contents, frowning slightly.
“It’s coffee,” she explained patiently, kneeling beside him and gently maneuvering the cup to his lips. “Drink it,” she urged softly. “It will help.”
He was trembling. Storm’s face contorted with anguish at the sight of his silent suffering. Finally, with great effort, he muttered, “Nothing will help.”
She took the cup and set it down on the carpeted floor beside the sofa. Jim remained hunched over, his arms resting on his thighs, the blanket covering most of his body. Storm slid her arm across his shoulders. “Jim…Jim, I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed against the lump in her throat. Her eyes welled with tears as he raised his head and studied her.
“Reye’s.”
“What?” Storm whispered.
“Reye’s,” he answered. “That damn Reye’s Syndrome. The boy didn’t have a chance.”
“Oh, God,” Storm moaned, tears streaming down her face. “It’s so hard to diagnose. You couldn’t have known!”
“He’s dead.”
She reached up, sliding her hand down his temple and cheek. “You tried, Jim. You know that if Reye’s isn’t caught at the outset, chances are the child will die from it. We got to Bobby just when he was going into the last stages.”
Jim sighed heavily, and his voice was filled with anguish. “He was only five…just five…like…the son I never had. He’d be about five now, if only…” His voice caught on a ragged breath.
Storm reached out blindly, drawing him into her arms, holding him against her. She felt him shudder again, and tried to think coherently. Had she misjudged his ability to handle life-and-death emergencies? She recalled the times she had wept in private after leaving an accident victim at the hospital. In her heart she knew Jim wouldn’t deal with his pain that way, but he did deal with it. Then what had made him snap this time?
Slowly Jim wound his arms around her waist and embraced her, resting his head against her cheek. Again he shuddered violently in her arms and then the stillness of the apartment was broken by a sound Storm had never heard—the sound of a man weeping. She clung wordlessly to Jim, her heart bursting with love and anguish.
In the muted glow of the lamp in the corner of the room, Storm knelt within his embrace as he released the remains of something that had been tormentinghim for a long time. She rocked him gently, comforting him. Absently, she ran her fingers through his damp hair. Then, using the sleeve of her robe, she dried his cheeks as silence fell between them once again.
It seemed so natural, like another part of caring, when his mouth touched her own and he pulled her deeper into his arms, molding her against him. His mouth, strong and tasting of salty tears, met her parting lips in a caress that brushed against her flesh fleetingly…a quivering, tentative touch.
A moan slipped from her throat as she opened her mouth, allowing his tongue to glide between her lips. Her pulse fluttered wildly and she felt the thunderous return of his own heart beating within his broad chest, pressed against her breasts. The kiss deepened and Storm felt the last vestiges of reality crumbling as she gave in to the caress of his fingers against her body, which now trembled wildly with sudden desire. Somewhere in her stunned mind she realized that only love could absolve something as horrifying as what Jim had just experienced. Instinctively and willingly, she wanted to yield to his needs.
Jim dragged his mouth from hers and drew her down to the couch beside him. His gray eyes were alive with silver sparks of desire. “I need you,” he said thickly, his hand roving across her robed shoulder, torso and hip. He caressed her breast gently, then leaned down, kissing her insistently on the neck, pulling back the robe and gown as his mouth continued to warm her responsive flesh.
Storm gasped as his lips lingered on her breasts. She gripped his arms, her eyes wide with an azureflame as a path of longing grew achingly within her. Lazily, with teasin
g slowness, his tongue circled her taut breast until finally capturing her hardened nipple. She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply as a flux of wild sensations ignited within her. A bolt of heat shot from her nipple down to her womb. She lost all notion of time and space and became cradled in a vortex of dizzying sensations. Moments later she realized that Jim had picked her up and was carrying her to the bedroom. The cool, crisp sheets against her heated back brought her briefly back to reality.
He stood near the bed, shedding his clothes, allowing them to drop to the floor. Taking condoms from the pocket of his slacks, he asked, “Are you protected?”
She nodded, her gaze sweeping from his broad, sculpted shoulders, across his lightly dusted, dark-haired chest, following the dark, thin line across his abs to the rock-hard erection. She felt heat tunnel into her lower body, felt dampness between her thighs, thought of only his mouth, his touch, his entering her. He gave her a dark smile and knelt upon the bed. The mattress depressed and he uncoiled his length against hers.
She lay naked before him on the bed. Jim propped himself up on one elbow, his hand near her head, a heated smile curving the corners of his mouth. Leaning over, he took a strand of her hair and ran it through his fingers. “Like silk,” he murmured, his breath fanning across her cheek. His mouth skimmed her lips. Moving to her neck, he gently nipped her flesh, licked and then kissed it. A soft sound caught in her throat. He wanted to taste her, the saltiness, the velvet of her incredibly sensitive flesh. He pressed small, lingering kisses along each of her collarbones, his lips drifting lower, following the curve of one breast, feeling her breath hitch, her hips move hotly against his. A growl rose in his chest as her soft belly pressed insistently against his erection. The nipple puckered as he caught it between his lips and he suckled her.
Storm moaned softly, pressing against him, twisting her hips, her hand sinking into his shoulder. The beautiful, breathy sounds made him groan as he suckled her strongly. Storm’s breath was becoming uneven, her hips bucking against his, wanting him. She was so damned responsive as he slid his hand down across her hip, holding her tightly against him. A gasp broke from her lips. He released her nipple, his gaze coming back to her face. “My lovely storm goddess. You’ve given so much, so selflessly…You’re such an incredibly loving woman.”
Untamed Desire Page 7
